Blank canvas,

the off-white of days.

Subtle progress

in escaping the daze.

Still not the alabaster of purity

deserving of praise,

but the milky air of obscurity

and uncertainty, always.


A new interpretation

of an old painting;

an undiscovered implication

in ancient writing.

Not brand new

nor reborn,

This canvas has been used,

worn and torn.


Filled with emptiness

and lack of substance,

loud with silence

and rich in the absence

of fulfillment.

In my solitude,

I am extraordinarily


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s